


Prologue

by Kaicielia



Series: Ailyn Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaicielia/pseuds/Kaicielia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ailyn had been an outcast even in her own clan, so when Keeper asked for volunteers to venture out of the Marches and into Fereldan, she seemed the obvious choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> When getting to know my characters, it is helpful to imagine where they came from.

The Lavellan children watched as Ailyn cleaned her kill, hanging the body and tracing a careful line down the animal’s chest and belly. She smiled, noting how the eldest mimicked her action as the others watched in open-mouthed awe. They stood off to one side, far enough away to pretend they weren’t watching but close enough to get the view they craved. After the cut had been made she slowly sunk her blade into the soil at her feet, extending the suspense that she imagined the children felt. She pulled at opposite corners of the skin, loosening it to facilitate its removal. With nothing more than a flick of her wrist, so quick that eyes could not catch it, the skin was torn away. The children whispered excitedly and her smile widened.

The change in the children’s demeanor caught the attention of a nearby adult, father to one little girl in the group. He laughed and asked what had them so excited, but when he followed their gazes and his eyes met hers the laugh caught in his throat. Grabbing his little girl’s hand, he pulled her away without explanation.

Ailyn sighed heavily and turned back to her work. She had been an outcast for as long as she could remember; since she had been orphaned at a young age. Keeper herself, being her mother’s sister, had taken her in when no other would. She should be used to such reactions, she told herself. As well as she’d learned to mask her emotions, the sting she felt hadn’t changed. In fact as she grew the feeling of isolation deepened; few deigned to speak with her and those that did kept their conversations short. Recent weeks had been particularly difficult, coming up as they were on the anniversary of the attack that killed her family and so many of the clan.

She was skinning the last of the nugs when a small group of men came to retrieve them. Foranil was part of the group and she did her best to avoid his eyes. They were close in age, being born the same Winter, but he had been raised in another clan. When his magical abilities made themselves known he was sent to clan Lavellan; Keeper was the only adult mage in their ranks and her daughter the only other, and Foranil being counted as the fifth in his clan threatened to catch the attention of Templars.

He had flirted with her incessantly when he’d first arrived. Not many of her generation had survived in her clan and he took full advantage of the lack of competition. He praised her long dark hair, sang of her smooth dusky skin and recited poems of the intense green light of her eyes. The darker green of her Vallaslin had been his suggestion. “Bring out your eyes and let them shine,” he’d said.

She had denied his advances, not used to being shown such attention. She enjoyed his company, however, and the smile that so rarely graced her features found her face more in that time than any she could remember before. Just when the possibility of finding a life partner no longer looked like a lost cause, he lost interest. Others, it seemed, had advised him against pursuing her.

The men collected the brace and the skins and moved on to the next hunter; this one with an elk strung up. Ailyn cleaned the few tools she kept with her and walked to the fire. She had spent the majority of the day hunting and already the sun hung low in the sky. Most of the clan had already eaten, so she served herself a small bowl of roasted roots and a slab of meat before taking a seat in the shadows, far from anyone who remained at the fire.

Ailyn stared into the flames as she ate. By night the Fade was cruel to her, replaying the nightmare of the attack she’d lived through as a child. During daylight hours, however, she often attempted a visit, hoping to see a shadow of her mother or father, her sister or a friend from when she was a child. Nothing ever came of it. Even when she did manage to visit she maintained little control and had taken to simply observing, but the short visits seemed to defray the lack of sleep she otherwise suffered and so she continued the ritual.

The camp quieted around her as her kin turned in for the night. Three men, the first watch of the night, gathered around the fire and shared a pot of strong tea to keep them alert throughout their patrol. It would be several more hours before Ailyn would be able to sleep. She had offered to sit watch on several occasions, but there were still those that distrusted her and her request was denied. Keeper had once suggested sending her off with another clan, but with so few remaining from her generation the idea was shelved. “They’ll get over it,” one kind woman had said. “It wasn’t her fault, and eventually everyone will see that.”

“Aneth ara Da’len,” Ailyn heard Keeper’s voice off to one side. “You didn’t stop by for your lessons.”

“Ir abelas,” Ailyn answered, finishing the last cold remnants of her food. “Hunting was going so well I decided to keep at it. Besides,” she added after Keeper sat next to her, “you said there was little more you could teach me.”

“Ah,” Keeper’s lips turned up in a small smile as she gave Ailyn an incredulous look. “And languages….”

“…are best remembered when used regularly.” Ailyn finished for her, repeating the mantra that Keeper had taught her. “But we don’t trade with Durgen’len or Shemlen from any lands; I haven’t seen one since….” She shook the image of Templars killing her sister from her head. “I won’t be Keeper since I have no magic. Why teach me?”

Keeper turned to the fire and remained silent for many long minutes. Finally she spoke, but her voice sounded far away. “I had hoped things would get easier for you, but it seems many in the clan are unable to forget their grief. You are a skilled hunter, an expert tracker and have a natural drive to learn. You are destined for great things, Da’len, but I fear those things may be elsewhere – away from the clan, away even from the Marches.”

Ailyn dropped her head and closed her eyes. They’d had this conversation before and each time Ailyn was sure Keeper was just being kind. Yes, Ailyn was proficient at both hunting and tracking. She was likely one of the best in the clan, but whenever she did too well eyes turned hard and people became confrontational with her and so she always made sure to do just well enough. She used the excuse to go out on her own at night; get that last bit she missed during the day or extra practice to improve her skill, work her body to exhaustion so she’d get at least a few good hours of sleep before the nightmares came.

She stood and took a deep breath. “Well, I should be off.”

“Yes,” Keeper agreed sarcastically. “Hunting wasn’t so good that you don’t need to head out into the night.” They shared a look and a small, melancholy smile before Ailyn walked away.

Hunting went well that night. Ailyn managed to take down another brace of nugs and got a lucky shot at a wild hog before she headed back to camp, cleaned them and hung them with the rest of the clan’s bounty. By the time she bedded down at Keeper’s aravel she was barely able to keep her eyes open.

 

Ailyn woke with a start. Her heart beat like a drum and sweat plastered hair to her face. The dream was always the same, never deviating from the story it told. She would never be able to save her friends and family from the Templars. She watched them die years ago and was cursed with the nightly reminder. 

The sky was still dark, the barest hint of the coming dawn glowing on the horizon. She rose and walked to the fire that was still aflame. She knew guards stood watch in the forest surrounding the camp but could see none of them. She set a pitcher of water next to the fire and dropped a handful of herbs into it.

She stared into the fire as the tea brewed. Mornings were always the worst part of the day for her. With her memory jogged, the voices and faces of her family fresh in her mind, she tried again to catch site of them in the fade. Her senses narrowed to the fire before her, everything else remained black and silent. She felt the heat wash over her, enveloping her in a cocoon of protection. Her mind began to wander, her eyes unfocused and she caught sight of a great castle in the distance, The Black City of the Fade. She floated, looking down on the spirits that rushed about her, but once again she recognized none of them. 

She noted a mass growing in the distance, demons gathering together for some common purpose. She had never seen such before and watched, wondering what would bring such a force together. She struggled for a better look when the hiss of water hitting hot coals drew her back to her own world.

She drank a cup of tea, the warm liquid chasing the last cobwebs of sleep from her mind. Seralin walked from the forest to get a cup and sat on a rock across the fire from her. The grizzled veteran nodded a greeting but remained silent, unable to bring himself to speak.

He lost two sons and three grandchildren, Ailyn thought to herself, returning his nod. She tore her eyes from his accusing gaze and stared into the fire. Truth was the clan had been good to her. Ailyn had just been a child, after all, allowed to go on the trek with the other children only under the guidance of her older sister. There had been no sign of Templar activity and the children had wandered further than usual, collecting berries along the stream. For a moment she lost herself to the memories that came unbidden to her mind. How she had run to her parents, believing she had been spared, only to realize that the Templars had followed her to camp.

She shook herself, tossing what tea remained in her cup into the fire. She stood and pulled the twin blades from her back, walking to the training yard to begin yet another day of trying to forget the disaster she had brought to her clan.

She was winded by the time the sun peeked over the horizon. A horn blew, announcing the morning meal, and she sighed heavily as she made her way back to the fire.

Communal meals were difficult for her, but Keeper had insisted she join the clan every morning. It had been years since anyone had overtly blamed her for the attack but she still saw the pain in the eyes of the others. When they looked on her they didn’t see Ailyn; they saw their children butchered, their soldiers falling to the force she had led to the camp. She finished her meal quickly, ignoring the conversation around her.

A glint of gold caught her eye and she turned to the sky to see a great eagle fly overhead. She recognized Deratu as the messenger of the Ferellan clan and finished what she was doing before making her way to camp, where much of her kin had gathered to hear Keeper share the news he had brought. Rather than join the rest, she stood with a youngster off to one side, tearing hunks of meat for the bird as a reward for doing his duty.

“The Shemlen are at war,” Keeper announced.

An unsurprised murmur rumbled through the crowd.

“Their mages have rebelled. They and the Templars fight each other. Factions on each side have abandoned their cults and struck out on their own.”

“So their mages are finally fighting back,” a voice from the crowd shouted.

“Shem are always at war,” another pointed out. “Let them kill each other off.”

“Templars at war are dangerous to all,” an older woman chastised them. “Our own mages are sure to be a target.”

“You really think they’ll target the clans?”

“If the Templars are fighting their own mages….”

“They have called a conclave to talk peace,” Keeper told them. The crowd silenced. “They gather at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to discuss the issue. It is in our interest to send our own emissary to answer these questions.”

A roar erupted. “To be killed?”

“Will they even let us in?”

“We will never be welcome in their cities.”

The voices continued for some time. The Elvhen had traditionally been used as slaves in Shemlen cities and while slavery had been abolished everywhere but Tevinter, they remained servants and beggars; the bottom of the social ladder that meant so much to the Shem. The Dalish rejected this life and struck out on their own, living as nomads and staying far from Shemlen settlements. A Dalish dignitary would stick out like a sore thumb, but a beggar would be pointedly ignored.

“I’ll go,” Ailyn announced as she walked to stand next to Keeper.

The crowd still talked among themselves but the volume decreased significantly.

“Da’len,” Keeper said to her, turning to put a hand on her shoulder. “This is a dangerous task.”

“I am no child,” Ailyn pointed out, smiling as she did. “I have many winters and have learned much under your tutelage.”

There were calls of assent from the crowd, some from those she knew simply wanted to be rid of her. There were also voices of dissent; a complaint that she would bring the whole of Thedas down on them this time.  
Keeper turned an angry look to the crowd, daring the speaker to make himself known, but no one stepped forward.

“I know their language, their ways.” Ailyn continued to argue, ignoring the slight. Over the years, she had taken particular interest in learning the languages and customs of the Shemlen. The Templars were of the Shemlen and while their leadership publically denounced the systematic hunting of the Dalish, it was known to occur. The Shem populace had, on occasion, protested the treatment but little changed in the miles of plain, forest and mountain that existed outside city walls.

“I can disguise myself, hide in the shadows, gather whatever information I can and be back before the laurel blooms.”

Keeper wanted to deny her request but held her tongue. Her daughter was not yet old enough to perform such a task and as the clan’s only Keeper she would be needed here. There were others she could send who were older, but few could speak the Shemlen language and none of them had volunteered. It was possible that if Ailyn returned successful many of the clan would finally forgive her. And, truth be told, her loss would be felt the least if she did not. As Keeper stood, silent, the noise from the crowd diminished.

“Very well,” she answered. “You will leave in the morning.”

The crowd began to break up almost immediately as most returned to their work. A few stopped to wish her luck but the conversation was cut short by Keeper pulling her away to prepare her for the trip. She was caught in a flurry of activity for the rest of the day until she fell, exhausted, into her bedroll that night. The exhaustion could not hold the nightmares at bay, however, and she was again up well before light. She gathered what had been prepared for her and set out before the rest of the camp woke.

 

The trip went better than she could have imagined. She felt a freedom she hadn’t known before, free of the obligations and accusing glances of her clan. She followed a river for most of the journey, encountering no one until she got much closer to Shemlen lands. With the sun on her back and a gentle breeze in her face, Ailyn walked with a spring in her step.

It was obvious when she reached the road leading to the conclave. A line of soldiers in red armor marched four abreast, the Templar flag raised proudly above them. Ailyn shrugged into a cloak and pulled the hood over her head, hiding her tell-tale Vallaslin from prying eyes. She approached the road slowly, at an angle, hoping that the army would pass by before she reached it.

She calmed the racing of her heart. She hadn’t been so close to Templars since the attack on her clan and their proximity unnerved her. She knew she should be safe; the Templars didn’t hate the Dalish, per say. They distrusted mages and the clans were ‘allowed’ to keep mages, out of Chantry circles and away from Templar oversight. Besides Tevinter, where mages ruled, the clans were one of the few places where mages were not required to join a circle or give up their magical abilities. Hot-blooded Templars looking to sink their blade into a mage found those in the clans easy targets.

The army passed by and she followed many paces behind. She was joined by other lone travelers, merchants looking to take advantage of the gathering or representatives from smaller communities who wished to have a voice. They walked in companionable silence, maintaining their distance from the Templars, stopping and continuing when the mass ahead of them did. 

As they approached Ailyn noted the great tent city that had sprung up outside the gates. It reminded her of the Arlathvhen, with merchants hawking their wares, groups gathered around fires and children running freely while leaders met, planned and shared what knowledge they’d acquired. Ailyn joined those at one of the fires, striking up a conversation with a merchant selling healing herbs, and learned that the conclave was due to begin three days hence.

She walked the city over those three days, learning the alleys and hidden places that even those who called the city home would miss. Templars gathered on one side while mages remained on the other. Neither trusted the other, but none dared strike. Divine Justinia V had called the conclave and, as the head of their religious order, all respected her wishes.


End file.
